Chapter 4

Mark, as "David," tried to corner me in the kitchen later, while I was helping Mrs. Henderson with the dishes.

"Olivia, is everything alright? Leo seems... distant."

His voice was laced with that fake concern I now despised.

I kept my back to him, scrubbing a plate with unnecessary force. "He's fine. Just growing up."

"He called me Uncle David so... formally."

I turned, my expression carefully neutral. "That's your name, isn't it?"

His eyes narrowed. He knew. He sensed the shift.

The easy camaraderie we once shared, even in my "widowhood," was gone, replaced by a brittle formality.

He looked like a man who had lost something he hadn't realized he valued. Good.

The next few weeks were a blur of forced smiles and quiet planning.

I met Captain Jim Miller.

He was kind, respectful, with warm eyes that had seen their own share of sorrow. He was a widower, his wife lost to cancer a few years back.

He didn't push, he just listened.

Leo, true to his word, adored him from the start. Jim showed him pictures of his fire engine, talked about safety, and even let Leo try on a spare, clean helmet he kept in his car for outreach events.

It was a stark contrast to Mark's furtive, guilt-ridden interactions.

I started clearing out Mark's things from my apartment. The real Mark, the one I thought I knew.

His clothes, his books, the few belongings returned from the fire station.

Each item was a painful reminder of the lie.

I packed them into boxes, not for storage, but for disposal.

One afternoon, I decided I needed a new dress.

Not for a date, not yet, but for a community event, a fundraiser for the local library. Jim had casually mentioned he'd be there.

I found myself in a small boutique downtown, looking at a rack of dresses.

My hand drifted past the blacks and grays, the colors of mourning I'd worn for three years.

I picked out a dress in a soft, hopeful blue. It felt right.

As I paid, I saw him.

Mark, as "David," was across the street, staring into the boutique window, his expression unreadable.

He saw the dress bag in my hand. He saw me smiling, a genuine smile.

Our eyes met for a brief second before I turned and walked away, my heart pounding, but not with fear.

With a strange sense of triumph.

A few days later, he showed up at my apartment unannounced. "Uncle David" dropping by.

He had a large, expensive-looking toy robot for Leo.

"Hey, buddy, look what Uncle David brought you!"

Leo looked at the robot, then at me.

He said, politely, "Thank you, Uncle David, but Mommy's helping me make a robot out of cardboard boxes. It's going to be bigger."

Mark's smile tightened. "Oh. Well, this one has lights and makes sounds."

"That's okay," Leo said, already turning back to his drawing of our box robot. "I like the one Mommy and I make."

Mark looked from Leo to me, a flicker of desperation in his eyes.

He was losing his grip, his carefully constructed role was crumbling.